


The Swan and the Nutcracker

by steelneena



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, F/M, Nutcracker AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swanfired NutcrackerAU: Emma Nolan thought it was just going to be another Christmas, but when her Mother's strange Godfather, Mr. Gold brings a mysterious Nutcracker as a gift for the family, she begins to experience magical, impossible things, and finds that she may be the Saviour of an entire realm, and possibly a Prince too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Swan and the Nutcracker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://caitsnowing.tumblr.com/](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Fcaitsnowing.tumblr.com%2F).



> This was written for caitsnowing on tumblr, as inspired by her graphics set found here: http://caitsnowing.tumblr.com/post/105892843474/au-swan-thief-nutcracker
> 
> The story is a combination of the original English translation of the book, the ballet and the animated film. As it's Christmas Eve today, I haven't got the time I'd like to comb through for any errors, but rest assured, I'll do it after the holidays.
> 
> EDIT: I still haven't combed for errors. Sorry.

_Dramatis Personæ_

_As Fritz: Graham (in canon called baby Neal)is Emma’s younger brother, a boisterous lad of seven._

_As Maria/Clara: Emma, our main character, fourteen years old, headstrong and deeply imaginative._

_As Mayor and Mrs. Stahlbaum: David and Mary Margret Nolan_

_As Party Guests: Mrs. Lucas, Ruby Lucas, Marco Geppeto, Mother Superior and Dr. Hopper_

_As Godfather Drosselmeier/The Court Scientist: Mr. Gold/Rumplestiltskin_

_As the Clockwork Dolls: Johanna and Wendy_

_As Harlequin: Robin Hood_

_As the Soldier: Mulan_

_As the Nutcracker Prince/Drosselmeier’s son: Neal/Baelfire Gold_

_As the Court Astrologer: Jiminy Crickit_

_As Pirlipat: Kathryn_

_As the King: Midas_

_As the Mouse King: Peter Pan_

_As the Mouse Queen: Cora_

_As the Sugar Plum Fairy: Astri/Nova_

 

Act I:

 

Christmas Eve…

Emma and Graham were alone in the ante-chamber, waiting on their Parent’s party to end so that their own festivities could begin. The guests who came during the day were nearly on their way out. Ms. Mills always came to Mayor and Mrs. Nolan’s party – she herself being a former mayor of Storybrooke – as did many another; the Elderly yet very sturdy Mrs. Lucas and her granddaughter Ruby Lucas, who was Mrs. Nolan’s childhood friend, kind old Marco Geppeto, Mother Superior and Dr. Hopper among them. Geppetto’s son, August was interred with the Nolan children in the far room. The parlour was firmly off limits during the Christmas soiree, as was the adjoining juncture of rooms.

August, the oldest of the children at fifteen, made his fun by terrifying the youngest, Graham being only seven years old. He claimed throughout the afternoon to have heard strange rattling noises in the chamber beyond. “There’s something in the dark corners, Graham, and they’re coming to get you!”

A dark shadow had passed the window when the day had fallen to twilight, and August took advantage of that too.

“It’s only Mr. Gold,” Emma reassured her little brother, simultaneously scolding their friend. “Stop frightening him! It’s just Godfather, come with our special Christmas surprise,” Emma was fourteen. As long as she could remember, Mr. Gold, her mother’s Godfather, had been coming to fix this or that, and bringing them ingenious clockwork gifts which he had crafted himself.

Mr. Gold was a strange man. Dark and brooding, the Scottish fellow walked with a limp and swathed himself in the finest of suits as if to make himself more appealing to the general masses. His eyes were stormy, and his hair hung long and limply. Never seen without his cane, Gold cut quite a figure against the night’s lamplight. Papa said that he was a lawyer by trade, and tradesman by hobby. Gold owned a lovely store, which sold second hand jewelry and boasted the finest of gold thread within twenty miles. He made quite the habit of rudeness and wasn’t very kind to the children either. When asked why, Emma’s mother wouldn’t speak to a cause, but Emma had acquired the tendency of listening at doors (much to her parents chagrin) and had heard something about a missing member of Mr. Gold’s family. It had caused quite the scandal, whatever _it_ truly was. Emma hadn’t the nerve to ask again.

At any rate, Emma and Graham appreciated the many toys which he had brought for them, even if his company was a bit daunting. Gold knew everything there was to know it seemed. He came, when occasion called for it, to fix the household clocks, and took great pleasure in frightening Emma with his strange tools. She knew though, that it was for show, as he always came with something special in his pockets for her and her brother. A little bird in an egg, a clockwork man only as tall and Emma’s hand, and once a small music box in the fashion of a lake on which swans gracefully swam.

The best gifts were always saved for Christmas of course. They were always quite grand, and the Nolan’s took great care to keep them in good condition. This evening, Mr. Gold had come up the front walk carrying quite a large package with him, and in order to pass the time, the children commiserated over what new and beautiful present he had brought with him that year.

“A Castle, Emma! Perhaps is it a castle!” Graham fairly shouted with excitement. August rolled his eyes at the boy’s childishness. He did not care for Mr. Gold at all. Emma thought perhaps it was because her friend was jealous, but it made little sense, as his own father was no less than the best carpenter in town. All of the fine portrait frames in their home were done by Marco Geppetto’s hand, as was the headboard to her parent’s lovely Cherrywood bed. “I do hope it is a castle, Graham pouted, resting his chin on his hands which were folded across the window sill. He peered out of the pane at the gentle falling snow. “But even then, I like what Mama and Papa get us much better, because we can keep playing with them,”

“If you were able to have Mr. Gold’s trinkets all of the time, you would surely break them, Graham,” Emma admonished. There was indeed a special glass case in which they stored the more fragile of Mr. Gold’s treasures, and their parents made strictly sure that each and every item was accounted for. August scoffed.

“He could always make more. What’s the point in having them if you don’t get to use them?” He asked.

“Beautiful toys aren’t really made for play,” Emma couldn’t help but parrot her mother’s words, which had so infuriated her only the other day. August was becoming a spoilsport, and Emma wished desperately for the adult frivolities to be over and done with.

They bandied ideas about for a little while longer, even August joining in the discussion, but before long the doors were flung open, Mary Margret and David Nolan in the doorway, and August’s father waiting a ways behind. “Shall we? Christmas Eve is almost here!”

Emma and Graham said their goodbyes, and the Geppetto’s were on their way. The only person left in the house who was not a member of the Nolan family was Mr. Gold. He never attended the party himself, for some unknown reason.

The children entered the parlour with their parents, and, upon seeing the lovely fir tree, trimmed with tinsel, cranberry strings, pearls, and little ginger cookies, were delighted. There were even tiny cardinals clipped daintily to the branches. Little white candle-lights twinkled in amongst the evergreen, winking out at Emma. At the top was the star, shining bright and beautiful, and below, a swath of brightly wrapped packages waiting for the two young Nolans.

Emma descended upon them with somewhat more restraint than Graham, who was already tearing at a package. Emma found there a new doll, which she christened Wendy, to befriend her old one, Johanna, and several lovely things to compliment her, including a miniature tea set. It was all very magnificent and very grown up looking, as if they were meant for display, and Emma liked them all immediately. But what caught her eye was the stunning dress of silver and white gossamer which was displayed on a wire frame for her viewing.  Tulle trimmed the thin sleeves and small pearls bedecked the bodice and throat.

“It’s beautiful, Mama,” She crooned. Mary Margret’s eyes sparkled in the ethereal light. Mrs. Nolan was fair of skin, with dark luscious hair, piled atop her head in ringlets on this occasion. Her lips were stained a bright red, and her cheeks held a healthy flush. She looked every bit the princess Emma had once believed her to be.

“Thank your father, my darling. He picked it for you,”

Emma’s father.

Handsome, with a winningly sincere smile, David Nolan was utterly entranced by his only daughter. She was the apple of his eye, and, to Emma, the Prince Charming of every fairy tale. He gazed fondly at her. Emma beamed back.

“Thank you, Papa,” She wrapped him in a tight hug, and he petted her hair tenderly.

“Anything for you, darling,”

Behind them, careening across the room was Graham, who had found himself a new Hobby Horse, a rich chestnut with a white star on the forehead.

“Giddyup!” He hollered, the rest of his family laughing softly at his antics. Graham reigned in his mount dramatically, stopping in front of a newly unwrapped regiment of tin soldiers, as though he were a general reviewing his regiment.

The evening progressed. Dinner interspersed the merriment of gifts, and when it was over, Graham and Emma preoccupied themselves with books while they waited for Mr. Gold’s gift to be prepared. Over the meal they had requested that he tell them his surprised, but he had refrained adamantly, speaking only of business with David and occasionally of lightly superfluously topics with Mary Margret. The children were largely ignored. It was only on holidays that they even were allowed to sit with at the main table when company was present, and so they were on their best behaviour. Soon, Emma knew, she would be moving permanently to a place at the main table. One more year, and at fifteen she would begin lessons as a young lady.

Secretly, she wished not to be a young lady, much preferring games with her brother, which would soon be not only too childish, but also too boyish for a young lady.

Her novel was a compilation of Hans Christian Anderson tales which she had unwrapped early in the evening, much to her delight. It was bound in deep violet linen and inlaid with lovely gold filigree that sparkled when it caught the light.

He father tapped her shoulder, startling Emma, who was quite engrossed in a story about seven swan brothers, who were curse princes.

“Emma, dear, Mr. Gold is going to unveil his gift now,” His eyes glimmered, mischievously.

“Oh!” Emma placed the golden ribbon between the pages, content to return later. The promise of Mr. Gold surprise was too exciting to put off. Graham had already been collected by their mother, and both were waiting outside a curtained doorway, behind which Mr. Gold set up his new gift each year.

He drew aside the curtain from behind dramatically, with sparks of all colours flying magically about and the most magnificent castle was revealed to them. It was a fairy tale come true; the building itself stood tall on a mound of rock, with a stone bridge arching over to the suggestion of a wooded hill. All was of course, expertly engineered from a variety of materials. The castle itself was golden, with clear glass windows and five spires. The great doors opened when Mr. Gold wound the brass key, and on little tracks, tiny people in diaphanous gowns and velvet coats twirled about to a lovely tune. Children played with dogs. There was a figure which looked suspiciously like Emma herself, and one that was most certainly Mr. Gold himself. Another, in a green coat was perhaps her brother. Miniature crowns were atop the heads of two figures, closely resembling David and Mary Margret. The peaked out from the balcony windows every so often. Horses and soldiers too paraded about the courtyard.

It was a most spectacular display that had both Emma and Graham crowding to see it better. Emma, who was two head taller than her little brother, had the easier time of it. Disappointed at his own lack of view, Graham lamented.

“Mr. Gold! Can you make me small enough for the castle? I want to go in and play with horses and battle with the soldiers!”

“I’m afraid it cannot be done, Dearie,” Mr. Gold looked down, his thin nose providing a sharp line against his face. “This miniature world is meant to be viewed from without,” The whole structure wasn’t quite to Grahams shoulder, should it have sat on the ground, and Emma coughed to hide a giggle. After a moment, their father stepped forward and lifted Graham so he might better see the display. Each figure moved accordingly, over and over in its proper place.

“Mr. Gold, can you make it so the little green man comes out that door instead?” The little boy pointed with his forefinger, leaning outward from his father’s arms.

“I cannot,” The austere man replied.

“Maybe the figure that looks of you, then, Godfather,” The endearment was obviously being used to make his request in a more favourable light, but again Mr. Gold shook his head. “I cannot. He is precisely where he belongs,”

“The puppies?” Graham pleaded. “They’re so far away! I wish they were closer,” But he already knew the answer was no, and Mr. Gold was losing his patience.

“Where each figure is placed, young Graham, so he or she must remain,”

It was obvious that Graham had lost all fascination with the mechanism which could only do so much. He squirmed to be let down, perhaps more childish than he should have, but the hour was growing late, and David eventually set the boy back on the ground. Emma still stared at the moving miracle, entranced.

“Have you brought other toys for us, Godfather? If the castle only does the same thing over and over, that’s quite boring, isn’t it? I’d like to make something up! Perhaps a new tin soldier on his horse then?” Graham’s begging indeed produced something new, much of the sort that the boy had described. By this time too, Emma had grown distracted, thinking of her book.

“I’ll just pack it all up them,” Mr. Gold muttered to himself. “Such a thing isn’t for children,”

“Oh but I’d love to see it,” Emma’s mother stepped daintily forward, her slippers soft on the rug. “How indeed does it work?”  When Emma returned, her book retrieved, and delved into it once more, taking a seat in the corner, Mr. Gold’s humour was much improved, as improved as it could be, she supposed, from showing her parents the inner workings of the model. He was packing it up, piece by piece, as Emma watched from the corner of her eye.

When he was done, he came over to her with a little tin in his hand, which he presented to her.

“Gingerbread. You liked the castle, hmmm?” He asked, as she took a bite, careful with the crumbs.

“I did, sir,” She replied carefully. “It was very beautiful,” The man smiled strangely at her. Then he pointed, wagging his finger, playfully.

“If you’re a good sister you’ll perhaps share those with your rascal of a little brother, though he doesn’t deserve them,” Though his tone was serious and his mouth drawn in a tight line, Mr. Gold’s eyes were smiling.

“Perhaps,” Emma giggled back at him. She put away the book, and took a fresh cookie from the tin, munching at her own. Emma made her way over to her brother, who took the treat readily. While she watched him play, the girl looked on at the still stunning holiday display. Yet, there, on the table with the things which their mother’s Godfather had brought, Emma noticed something new. It was a curious wooden fellow, who, while larger than Graham’s toy soldiers, was only about as large as one of Emma’s dolls. The carven figure had a head that was a mite too large, a round barrel chest and long thin legs, whose painted trousers had thin gilt seams, which were ended in shiny black boots so that he could stand on his own. Immediately, Emma loved him.

Gradually, she had been growing out of love with her dolls, and saw them less as playthings and more as pretty items which she could display in her bedroom, and change the hair and fine dress of. It was for this reason that she found the strange carved man so intriguing. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and she wondered whether Mr. Gold had made it, or perhaps commissioned it from August’s father.

He was painted and dressed finely, which made up for the strange bodily proportions. The rich burgundy coat was cut of velveteen and trimmed with white satin ribbon and small silver facets like clasps. His boots were painted a shiny black, and had similar silver trimmings. He had on a black cape and tall hat of strange fashion the likes of which Emma had never seen.

Even the face of the little man was detailed in the same fine manner. Looking more closely, Emma concluded that the figure to which she had taken an immediate liking had the kindest most handsome of features, with warm chocolate brown eyes (perhaps a bit too noticeable) and a fine prominent nose. The mouth was kindly set, framed by a dark moustache and a beard of soft white cotton. There was nothing but friendly gentleness to the little man’s character.

“Papa,” she called, her gaze unwavering. “To whom does this fine fellow belong?”

At the inquiry, her father joined her side. “Ah! You’ve found him! Yes, he shall work well for you and Graham. He’s a nutcracker Emma. Bring him here,” David commanded, going to the other table. From a cut glass bowel, he took a Chesnutt. He held out his other hand for the nutcracker and Emma reverently gave him over. From under the cloak, her father pulled a lever, and the jaw of the princely fellow fell open, exposing all of his white painted teeth in a gaping manner. Emma was put off by the sight. Between the teeth, her father popped the nut, and then, gently but with some force, brought the lever down and with it, the bottom set of teeth went up, splitting the nut through the pressure with a sharp crack. “He’s very industrious, isn’t he?” David smiled at the figure amiably before handing it back to Emma, along with the tender product, keeping the shell of the nut to himself. “I see you’re quite taken,” He chuckled. “But you’ll have to share with Graham. You can watch over Genteel Mr. Nutcracker though,”

“Father,” Emma groused, abhorred at being treated so childishly, though she knew her father couldn’t help it. But she was pleased with her new duty, and went to show Graham how the nutcracker functioned. She used only the smallest of nuts, afraid to damage the figure, but Graham got a hold on him, utterly delighted, and set him to cracking the largest nuts that he could find.

Emma, distressed, hovered in anticipation, ready to swipe the fine creation from her brother’s hasty hands should it seem as if he were to come to any harm.

“Graham! No! You have to be careful with it!” Emma reproved, but she was too late. The wood snapped, and the Nutcracker’s jaw hung awkwardly, broken.  Devastated, she snatched it from her brother’s hands. “You’ve damaged him!”

“He can’t do what he was built for! What’s the good in that?” With that, Graham ran off, unsympathetic, to play with his horses and soldiers once again.

“What’s this now?” Mr. Gold towered darkly over Emma, who cradled the injured figure. “Gone and snapped his jaw already then, have we?” He asked. Mr. and Mrs. Nolan came to stand beside him .

“Graham’s ruined him!” Emma lamented. “He’s more for decoration than use, I think, and now he’s broken,” Their father beckoned the boy over.

“Graham, the Nutcracker isn’t a toy. When your sister tells you to be careful with it, you must. It’s hers, now. If she tells you not to touch it, you mustn’t,” The boy hung his head.

“Alright,”

Their mother took him off to get him ready for bed, leaving Emma with her father and Mr. Gold.

“But what’s to be done with him?” She asked, taking out her handkerchief and tying it around his head in effort to hold his jaw shut. She gazed carefully at his painted features, and, for a minute, thought he looked rather more pale and wan than before. But it must have been her imagination. Mr. Gold took the nutcracker from her, and looked it over. He seemed amused at her preoccupation with it, but did not act unkindly.

“Perhaps something could be done. But not today. Another day,” He dismissed her, and she took the Nutcracker over the settee, where he book awaited them. Feeling rather girlish, Emma set the wooden fellow next to her, and opened her book from where she had left off. Time passed, though the young lady didn’t quite notice it. Her story was particularly engrossing, and she wondered how the sister would ever manage to return her brother’s to their human form, when the clock struck a late hour.

“Emma, dear, come say goodnight to Mr. Gold,” Her mother called from the foyer. The girl rose and said goodnight, both book and nutcracker in hand.

“Thank you, Godfather,” She spoke seriously. “I’ll put the nutcracker in the display case until you retrieve him for repairs,” The dark and curious man chuckled.

“Of course, dearie. Of course. I’m sure you’ll keep him safe,”

With a billow of his coat, and dip of his hat towards Mrs. Nolan, Mr. Gold swept away into the silent, snowy night.

~ 

When Emma had left her parents for bed, she took both her book and the injured nutcracker with her. In the en suite which led to both her own and her brother’s chambers, there was housed a lovely curio cabinet, which Emma had commissioned, via her mother, some years ago, for her father. The top shelf housed all of the fine mechanisms that Mr. Gold had made over the years, the next held her mother’s trinkets and some books. Below that, Emma stored her finest dolls, and on the bottom self all of Graham’s toy soldiers stood in their regimental lines.

It was here that she would make the Nutcracker comfortable. Her newest doll, Wendy, had been placed there only hours ago, but Emma removed her, instead placing the nutcracker on the center of the glass.

“You’ll be safe in here, and Wendy can go without a spot for a while, I’m sure,” She spoke softly to him. Emma inhaled in surprise. “Mr. Gold will come by and repair you in due time, I’m sure. He can’t be expected to work on a holiday,” she muttered absently to herself.  “And I’m sure Graham didn’t mean to break you. He just got a little carried away,” As she spoke, she thought she saw – but no, it was only a trick of the light that the Nutcracker’s expression had seemed more strange and almost frightened. Indeed, it was the same as when she had first glanced at it, as splendid broken as it was perfect, she thought to herself.

All the lights save one were out, Mary Margret having seen to that when she took Graham up to his room. The shadows danced through the room as the moon was covered and uncovered by the clouds. Emma placed her doll to the side with equal care as she had taken with the Nutcracker and made to close the case. She locked it up tightly, and was about to replace the key when she heard a rustling not all unfamiliar to her. It was the same noise from earlier in the evening, when she and August had been shut up in the ante-chamber with Graham.

Then, began a rattling. Emma turned on the spot, frightened. Then again, from a different location. The clock chimed, sending the girl whirling. A great golden owl sat atop the clock, and he hooted ominously at the girl, who was quite certain she was going insane.

The clock groaned, and the girl could perceive words as she never before had.

 _The Mouse King!_ The clock whirred and ticked. _He comes! With a good ear, he can seek you out! Twelve rings now!_

The clock chimed, once. Twice, four, five, eight, nine, ten times the clock chimed, and as Emma looked on, bewildered and a bit terrified, the Owl became Mr. Gold.

“Please, Mr. Gold, what’s happening? What are you doing here?” She entreated. “Please, it isn’t funny! Stop all this strangeness!” Sparks, as from earlier that evening, flew about. All at once his glowing eyes faded into many pairs of eyes. Small and gleaming they belonged to mice, which danced and darted merrily across the room, much to Emma’s delight. She was the only child (or adult for that matter)who wasn’t bothered by the little creatures. As she reached down to chase one, there came a strange roar, vicious but as if from a small creature.

She beheld a mouse, much larger in size than she had ever before seen. He was huge, and garbed in a fine read cape, with white fur. A golden crown sat upon his head, and he held a sword, proportioned perfectly in size to himself.

“Gather to me, my soldiers! We prepare for battle!” He cried. Emma drew back in alarm, disconcerted by the sight before her; the mice were assembling in regiments before their regent.

There was another shower of sparks – the magic which heralded Mr. Gold – which landed on the curio. Emma turned, and, much to her shock, her dolls were walking and talking as was…

“Nutcracker!” Wendy cried. “Please, you must save us all! The Mouse King is attacking!”

“You are our prince!” Johanna pleaded. “Call the troops,”

“I shall do my best to lead you,” He replied valiantly, pulling Emma’s kerchief from around his head and tied it around his arm, for his jaw seemed in perfect working order. Emma watched on as the Prince of the Dolls stood, valiantly hopping down from the shelf, and called Graham’s toy soldiers to arms.

“Robin! Mulan! Bring out the regiments! Form up the battalions! Strike the beat, Drummer! Prepare to attack! Cavalry and infantry into formations!” The Nutcracker Prince called his orders, and the men (and woman) hopped too. Mulan rounded up the cavalry while Robin headed the ground troops. The tin soldiers marched into formation before the display case, and the mounted unit trotted forward, lining up behind them, the mice hoard all the while stopping away, banging their shields and swinging their sabres.

“Oh, Prince Nutcracker! You haven’t a sword!” Lamented Wendy, safe on her shelf. But the Nutcracker did not falter.

“I’ll make do. I have to. The Mouse King, Peter, is my sworn enemy, and if I’m to keep my subjects safe, I shall fight him, sword or no,” Braver words had never been spoken in Emma’s hearing, but she still couldn’t quite believe her eyes.

“Onwards!” The Mouse King’s battle cry was fierce, and his troops swept forward in one fell rush.

“Aim! Hold! Hold, I said!” Called the Nutcracker. “Fire!”  Cannonade or marbles and cork rifle blasts sent the mice troops reeling backwards, but they rallied, return firing with pearls from a broken string, leaving dents in the soldier’s tin.

The two miniature armies clashed together, fighting head on, swinging and jabbing and lunging. The battle raged, all the toys from the cabinet joining in the battle, weaving in and about the chair legs and up upon the settee. For a moment it looked as if the mice might be beaten back, but, from the corner, the Prince, who was doing his best without a proper weapon, was cornered. Three mice rallied on him, nearly overwhelming him.

“My Prince!” Mulan cried, her sword sailing through the air. He caught the thing by the pommel, which was quite the feat, and threw off his attackers, but it already proved too late. The Mouse King was advancing upon him, and the Nutcracker found himself backed into the corner, his troops retreating around him.

Emma observed all of this in half a daze. She was fourteen, nigh fifteen. Such flights of fancy, such dreams should surly be a thing of the past! But in defiant anger that anyone should attempt to harm the Nutcracker, much less twice in one night, removed the slipped from her slender foot and flung it, hard, at the Mouse King.

“No one hurts my Nutcracker!” She shouted boldly. The slipper came down over his head, and the mice scattered in the fray. But Emma’s swing had sent her reeling and she fell back into the curio, breaking the glass, and fell unconscious, insensible to all around her.

 

Act II:

 

When she awoke, there was a dull throbbing in Emma’s head, but she recalled everything which had happened the night prior. Most of her dreams faded away into nothingness when she awoke, and it was that knowledge that firmed her belief that the impossible battle had really occurred. All the same, Emma resolved not to say a word to her mother, lest she think the head injury more severe than it truly was. When she saw her mother’s face, Emma knew it was a wise choice. Mary Margret was fiercely angry with her.

“Emma! I was so worried! How could you do that to me! We found you lying there this morning, glass shattered all around you! You could have been seriously hurt! You know better, young lady!” Rant over, Mary Margret sat down on the edge of her daughter’s bed. “What were you doing down there?” She asked, stroking her daughter’s blonde locks.

Emma winced. “I was reading mother. It got quite late and when I went to put the Nutcracker back in his case, I must have tripped on something. I’m sorry. It shan’t happen again,” Emma waited to see if her story held up. It was as believable as anything, she supposed, except the truth.

“Next time, dear, if you’re reading late, please do it in your bedroom. We don’t want you getting hurt again. Your father was frantic with worry,”

Emma had suspected as much. She was the apple of her father’s eye, and he been exceedingly protective over her in her true youth, derailing her attempts at climbing trees and playing at wooden swords with Graham, or tag with August. Any hurt she sustained was the greatest injury, and her dear father would sorry endlessly over her, unsure whether to punish or dote. Mostly, it ended in the latter, as he could deny her nothing, even things which she did not desire. If David believed she should have it, it was hers. The reverse was true with Graham and her mother, not to say that her mother didn’t love her, or her father unloving of Graham, no. Rather, it was obvious that they each had claimed a distinct kind of love over the child of their choice. It was a strange arrangement from the outside, but the children were content, close to both parents despite it.

Her father did come in, some time later, after her mother left to bring up the tea. He didn’t speak, only nodded at Emma’s meek apology, and kissed the crown of her head tenderly.

Graham was expressly forbidden from entering the room, so Emma sat alone, her tea cooling on the nightstand, wondering what fun was being had downstairs without her. Afternoon sun filtered in through the window, and she heard the creak of the stair, smelt the hot ham and dressing – Christmas dinner in bed! – coming to her room. From behind the door she saw the telltale swirl of Mr. Gold’s cloak.

“You’ve brought me lunch!” She exclaimed. Mr. Gold set the tray down over her legs, and then pulled something from behind his back, as if my magic. “The Nutcracker, You’ve repaired him! Thank you, Mr. Gold!”

“Of course, dearie,” He smiled mysteriously at her, in that way by which she wasn’t sure if he were kind of cruel or a mix of both. Mr. Gold was impossible to read. Emma took up the Nutcracker, tucking him into the bed next to her, uncaring how childish she seemed in front of the businessman. “I thought perhaps, in your confinement, you might enjoy a fairy story, to cheer you up,”

Emma was shocked. A fairy story? From Mr. Gold? She put down her dinner roll, finished her bite, and then looked him very seriously in the eye. “Truly?”

“I have just the tale for you to enjoy. I shall tell you how Nutcracker’s came to be, and how this particular one, became the Prince of the Dolls,” He sat down in the chair by her bedside, and made himself comfortable. Emma’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but if Mr. Gold noticed, he didn’t comment.

“That would be nice, thank you,” She said, before tucking back into her dinner, but she was far more interested in the tale which her mother’s Godfather had begun to spin…

_Once Upon a Time…_

In a faraway land, we shall call it Misthaven I believe, there was a King, named Midas and his daughter, Abigail. She was the most beautiful of all the women in the land. Now, long ago when she was young and her mother still alive, there was a mysterious happening. The Queen was terrified of some unknown force and required that there be several maids to attend Abigail, and that each should have their own cat. Now the King was prevailed upon to show that he wanted for nothing in Gold, for it was second in his heart only to his daughter. So the Court Astrologer and Advisor, Jiminy, who happened to be a cricket, of all things, predicted that a great feast should be in order.

So the Queen ordered the cooks to prepare the great feast. The scent was so heavenly that the King went into the kitchens to thank the cooks, and commend his dear wife. While they stood before the kettle, a voice wafted up to them from far below. It belonged to none other than the Mouse Queen, whose name was Cora. She asked to share in the feast, but was slighted by the King terribly.

So she called upon her hordes of soldiers and her chosen son, Peter, who would become King upon her death. He was a terrible cad, cunning and cruel, and Queen Cora favoured him. She ordered him out to do her bidding, and he came forth and stole away at the fat, leaving only just enough to season the feast of meat, it was supposed. But in the end, the King’s greed got the best of them. The fat was not enough and the King’s anger descended upon the citizens of Mousalia, the mouse realm hidden inside the castle’s straw mill.

He called upon the talents of the Court Sorcerer, a strange fellow called Rumpelstiltskin, to capture and trap the fugitive mice. He was covered in strange greenish gold scales and bumps, and his eyes were liquid amber, large and disconcerting, and he spoke in a strange manner with many trills, flamboyant and terrifying. Now normally this sorcerer would chose the people he assisted, and those he did not, but the King held over him a great a terrible power of control. The sorcerer, sometimes called the Dark One, was tethered to a special dagger, called the Kris. On it was engraved his name. Midas had stolen the dagger and used it to fulfill his every desire by making the mannish creature spin straw into gold.

King Midas commanded Rumpelstiltskin to create traps for the mice, in hopes of catching the elusive Queen Cora and her terrible son, the Prince Regent, Peter. No matter how ingenious the trap, the Dark One could not catch either of the rodent royalty. The King, doubly angered, threatened Rumpelstiltskin’s son, a young man named Baelfire, who was brave and true.

Queen Cora proved very difficult to catch, it was discovered, because of her terrible magic. She was a sorceress, and her wrath was terrible. As one by one her subject disappeared, her anger with the King grew, and Cora devised a terrible plan to exact her revenge, exactly as the human Queen had predicted, in fear of her beloved child’s life.

In the night, the Mouse Queen snuck into the beautiful Princess Abigail’s bedroom, and wove a terrible curse over her, and then, sneaking past the maids and their well employed cats, bit her, changing the Princess. Her once bright eyes grazed over, her smile widened across her face, and her body became smaller, leaving her head disproportionate, her arms and legs swinging on hinges.

In short, dearie, Queen Cora had turned the Princess into the first nutcracker.

The King, feeling the pain his actions had caused, turned his unhappiness on Rumpelstiltskin and his son.

“If you do not find a way to turn Princess Abigail back to her natural form, I decree that I shall have your son killed before you, so you may know the pain of your failure! You have but one month to complete your task, or I shall have the headsman take his axe to young Baelfire’s neck,”

Terrified for his son’s life and powerless to betray the King’s wishes, Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire set off in search of a cure for the Princess’s ailment.  They were both great readers and set to the royal library like hounds on the chase.  Eventually, Baelfire came to the rather wise conclusion that perhaps an answer to this problem could not be found in a book. Without alerting his father, he went to Jiminy, the Astrologer, to see if he could discern anything transmundane in nature.

After some hours, Jiminy concluded that there was a strange correlation between the Princess’s condition and nuts. Baelfire then went into the Princess’s chambers, bringing a handful of different nuts with him. Immediately the princess’s mouth opened, and when Baelfire placed the nut between her teeth, she cracked down on it, splitting the shell.

Armed with his new knowledge, Baelfire returned to his father in the library.

“Papa, perhaps we should research nuts. I did some experimenting and I think that perhaps there is a connection between them and her condition,”

Rumpelstiltskin, aided by his often unhelpful ability to seen pieces of the future, realized then exactly what must be done.

There was a nut, lost to all memory. It was called the Crackatuck and its shell was harder than anything else in the kingdom. It could not be unshelled but by a young man, who had to crack it between his teeth, giving the fruit to the princess. He could not yet be of an age to shave, and could never have worn boots prior. Blindfolded, he would have to walk seven steps backwards without tripping after the princess had eaten the nut, or risk disaster.

First, the nut had to be found. The proved far easier than expected, for Rumpelstiltskin had magic in his very blood, and it sprung to his fingertips to seek out the place where the famed nut could be found. In another three weeks’ time he had discovered it and brought it before the King. Now, who the young man, the nutcracker, could be, the King did not know, but he ordered invitation out to the princes and nobles of every kingdom that they might try their hand a curing her, and, in so doing win the princess’s hand. Many men tried, including the King’s favourite, a prince names James, but none of them could complete the task.

“You have failed!” The king shouted; his temper was ferocious, and, as he ordered Baelfire hauled away, Rumplestiltskin did what he had never deigned to do before. For love of his son, he begged clemency, leniency, a little more time to seek a solution, but brave Baelfire, stood forth proudly against the guards who had chained him.

“I will try it!” Baelfire cried. “I can save her!” There was set determination in his eyes, and, even though he wasn’t a prince, he was perhaps the Princess’s last hope, and so the King, nodded his head and Baelfire was released.

He took the sought after nut, and allowed himself to be blindfolded. The shell split sharply between his teeth and he passed the kernel to the Princess’s wooden mouth. The teeth snapped down on it immediately, and, everyone, save the unseeing Baelfire, perceived the miraculous change. Backwards the young man began to walk, one, three, five, six steps but on the third Queen Cora of the mice darted out behind him, and he tripped, stepping on her, and killing her in the process. But her curse was not to be so easily broken. As Baelfire fell, his father’s cries unheeded by all, he began to transform. In curing Princess Abigail, but failing to complete the required procedure, Baelfire took on her curse himself.

On the ground he laid, a poor stiff, wooden creature. Abigail had quite regained her senses, and when she looked down from her throne upon the figurine that was once her husband to be, she scorned.

“You would have married me to that!” She cried, angry with her father. Secretly, she had long loved her father’s trusted night, Sir. Fredrick. The King immediately took her side, pointing his finger at Rumpelstiltskin.

“You have tried to pass of a simply Nutcracker as a suitor for the Princess!” He cried, insensible to aught but his daughter’s desires.

“Princess,” The Dark One, begged, inwardly cringing at the gesture, but nothing was too much for the sake of his son. “Princess, please, my son saved your life. If you could but find it in your heart to love him, and the Mouse King killed, then he would be returned to his normal state!”

But the Princess would not yield, terrified that she would be forced to marry a man she did not love.

“Your son, oh Sorcerer, shall forever remain wood. A Prince of Dolls, and nothing more,” She turned her pale and beautiful face away from the ugliness which had overcome Baelfire.

Rumpelstiltskin went to collect his son, greatly saddened that the Princess did not have the same kindness of heart as the young man who had saved her.

_And how then did they live?_

Mr. Gold concluded his tale with a shrug. “It is beyond me to say, Young Miss Nolan. Perhaps you might puzzle it out in time. Perhaps his tale has not yet come to an end. Now, I must spend some time in your parents’ pleasurable company, and give Young Master Graham his one bedtime tale, don’t you think, Emma?”

She nodded, inwardly fuming as Rumpelstiltskin disappeared around the corner, taking her dinner tray with him, but leaving the splendid figurine.

How terrible and selfish the Princess was to leave the Court Sorcerer’s son in the condition from which he had saved her! Emma was positive that the young man would have understood her love of another, would have forgone the marriage. The boy from the story did not seem so cruel.

Emma lifted the Nutcracker Prince from his place at her side, looking at him carefully. Yes, perhaps this was the very nutcracker in question. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

But then her Mother came back up, Father alongside, to say goodnight, and the little man was confiscated away to the cabinet where he had stayed the night prior.

 

Act III:

 

Eventually, Emma got back to herself, and ventured downstairs once more, despite her doting and worried Father.

“She has got to get out of bed again sometime, David,” Her Mother had admonished, and so Emma had been allowed up and about within a day or so of the incident. The first place she went was to the cabinet, whose glass had been replaced. Inside, stood the Nutcracker, fine and fixed, just as she’d last seen him.  As she scrutinized her prized figurine, she became more and more convinced that this was the young man whom Mr. Gold had described.

Yet, a lingering doubt remained. Had she truly only dreamed her prior encounter? Had she slept walked? And what of Mr. Gold’s tale? How on earth could all of that possibly have happened? Emma was no naïve child, and her belief in magic had long since waned, but there was such a measure of truth to Mr. Gold’s words, that she couldn’t help but hold out that it was all a history instead of a fairy story.

“But if it’s true, then why hasn’t he helped you?” She asked the Nutcracker, though she spoke, truthfully, to herself. “You’re his son!” She looked around at the rest of the contented of the curio. “And you’re the King of the Dolls, that parts true too,”

Closing her eyes tight, and feeling very, very silly, Emma spoke, this time directly to the Nutcracker Prince.

“I’m going to help you, Young Master Gold. If no one else can, then I will. I won’t let you remain like this forever. I’ve stuck up for you so far, and I won’t stop now,” She nodded in time with her vow, and opened her eyes. The cabinet’s inhabitants were still. Saddened, but still curiously determined, she turned away from the case and made for the exit, but paused just before she crossed the threshold when she thought she heard a voice.

“Emma? You’ll help me, Emma, I know it. I do,”

She turned, but the Nutcracker hadn’t moved an inch.

Later that evening, Mr. Gold returned, looking as austere as ever. Emma, undaunted, approached him.

“My Nutcracker…he’s the son from the story, isn’t he?” The question was blunt, but Emma had never been one to mince words. Mr. Gold merely raised a brow tauntingly before replying.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” The answer was unsatisfactory, but Emma continued onwards.

“Why haven’t you helped him? All the rest of the prophetic happenings came true, and now he’s a Prince among dolls. So why won’t you change him back?”

“Alas, my dear, I’ve not the means to do so,”

It was Emma’s turn to scoff. Mr. Gold had the means to do anything! Gold noted her scorning glare and amended his statement.

“You mistake me, dearie. I’m not the one to save him. He needs a princess, like the lovely Abigail, to rescue him. No other could manage it,”

“So where do I find a Princess?”

“I think, you haven’t far to look,”

Emma wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, and questioned him on it immediately. Slyly, he responded.

“Are you not yourself a sort of princess in this home?”

The words resonated with Emma. Yes, she supposed, she was a sort of princess, which meant that she could rescue the Nutcracker from his fate. Emma herself would take his part in this war against fate and curses.

That night, Emma awoke suddenly to a terrible scratching noise. She sat up in bed, and looked to her side table, where she saw the Mouse King himself. King Peter scrabbled up the side and towards her bedding, but she pulled back, shocked at his audacity.

“Give me what I desire! Give me your riches and your sweets, or else I’ll harm that which you love most. I’ll bite him hard enough to snap his arms and legs,” He threatened maliciously, gnashing his teeth at her, before leaping off the nightstand at her.

Furious, and never one to go down without a fight, much to her mother’s chagrin, Emma put out her hand and smacked the great thing down before dashing out of bed and down the stair. Once more to the cabinet she went, and therein Emma saw that the dolls were moving about, and that the Prince was once more brought to life, his sword at the ready. She flung open the glass doors and he vaulted out.

King Peter came across the threshold into the room after Emma, and he too brandished a sword.

“Tonight we’ll have it out, eh Laddie?” He mocked the Nutcracker Prince. But Baelfire was valiant and held his ground.

“We shall see,” Immediately, King Peter sprung to action, and Prince Baelfire blocked, parried, thrusted, etc. etc. following all the fine rules of engagement which Emma had been taught (on the sly, of course) by her father before Graham has been born. The deadly duel continued on, and Emma wished but that there was a sword her size that she might also engage the tyrant in battle, for it seemed that he had the upper hand.

But finally, Prince Baelfire saw and opening and took it, landing a perfect and mortal hit to the Mouse King.

Vanquished, at last.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as Prince Baelfire cleaned his sword. Sheathing it, he turned to her, face grave, and bowed.

“Thank you my Lady. You’ve done me great service,” His courtly tones amused Emma, but she smiled genuinely.

“Anything, Nutcracker,” She stated evenly.

“It would be my dearest wish that you would accompany me back to my Kingdom,” Baelfire bowed deeply before her, and she bowed back, graciously.

“I don’t know how we’d get there, but I’d love to attend your realm,” Attempting regal grace, Emma’s words fumbled awkwardly, but the Prince was kind enough not to say anything.

“If you follow me, I think, you will see, but perhaps we should introduce ourselves? I am Prince Baelfire, of the land of Dolls, formerly of Misthaven,”

“I’m Emma,” Emma replied simply.

“But surely you are a Princess, for only a Princess could have done what you’ve done,”

“Of a sort,” She replied with Mr. Gold’s words.

“Perhaps you are princess of the swans, for you are as graceful as they,” His flattery was not lost on her. Coyly Emma smiled.

“Emma, Princess of the Swans, at your service then,”

Mysteriously, Emma, upon her acquiescence, found herself shrinking, she scrambled to place the Prince upon the table, where he directed her, and then pulled herself up the ottoman and onto the table before she was too small to do so. Much to her surprise, they stood before Mr. Gold’s Castle. She hadn’t noticed it’s return to their home before that moment, but it appeared that through its magnificent gates lay the doorway to a fairy world.

Prince Baelfire offered his arm, and taking it, Emma strode forward into a new land. There was music filling the air, Turkish, she determined, and lovely dancers all about.

“Shall we?” He asked her obligingly, offering his hand.

Together they danced through the throng, across to the other side, and proceeded through another doorway, which led them to a courtyard. There lay a lovely wood, and beyond it, a lake, where two Swan glided gently across the water.

“Your subjects, Princess,” He said in jest. Emma watched on the lovely scene in fascination. It was just like the music box that Mr. Gold had made for her.

“It’s more beautiful than a dream,” The said airily, looking about as snow began to fall. Nymphs in the wood peaked around the trees, and glowing floating lights, shaped like tiny persons, fluttered about. _Fairies_ …

“We must take the boat across to my Castle,” Baelfire said, showing her the gondola. They stepped in and Emma took a seat as the Prince pushed off with the tall staff-like fèrro. As they made their way across the glossy lake, for it shown like a mirror, music imbued the air. The Nymphs and Dryads about the land began to dance, and the Fairies darted about.  Emma chanced a look in the water, and much to her surprise, she saw a face that was hers, but yet not, for she was grown much older. And when she looked back at Prince Baelfire, she saw that he too was older than she had first realized, and matched the age which she sensed she must now be. Looking down, she saw that her nightgown was transformed into a gauzy ball gown of white and silver, with a shimmering bodice and tufted bits of tulle about the sleeves, which bared her shoulders. Yet she wasn’t cold.

They reached the opposite shore, and Prince Baelfire helped her from the gondola. It was a shining city before which they had landed, and there was a courtly gathering to greet the Prince. Indeed, Emma recognized her own dolls, as though human, and her brother’s tin soldiers, much transformed. There too was the valiant Mulan and Robin on bended knee before their lord.

“Stand friends! No need for such formality. We must go into the castle,” He turned to Emma. “Princess?” He offered his arm, and she took it. Before the whole crowd gathered, he spoke. “This is Emma Nolan, Princess of the Swans, and my Saviour! Without her, I should surly be dead at the hand of Peter, the Mouse King, and this Kingdom overrun by his followers,”

A cheer rose up, which Emma did not like, but she smiled to the crowd anyways, and waved a bit.

“I don’t like all the recognition. I did what I did to help you, and for no other reason,” She muttered to him.

“Yes,” He amended. “But the fact remains that you have saved this realm and all its inhabitants. And you’ve saved me, Emma, for which I will remain ever in your debt,”

They went up to the castle, even at Emma’s protests. Sat upon a gilt throne was a fairy, human sized, and covered in gossamer pinks.

“Brave Prince Baelfire! And Emma, Saviour of this land! Welcome!” She smiled down at them. “I’m Nova. It is a pleasure to meet you, Emma Nolan. Let us walk a while?” She held out her hand for Emma, who took it gingerly, leaving the Nutcracker Prince behind.

“Where am I?” Emma asked. “What realm is this?”

“Oh, somewhere between Misthaven and Prydain. It’s small and unassuming and only visible where the veil is thin. I don’t rightly know. You would probably know better than I. Anyway, I need your help!” Then, Nova grasped Emma’s hands tightly in hers. “There is more you could yet do. If you choose, and remain here, the spell may be broken and we would all be free of this enchantment,”

“But I can’t stay here, I have…my family…and-“ Emma cut herself off. Nova, her wand out, was weaving some magic, and there, in the air before them, a silver chain appeared and on the end, a pendant. “Should you ever wish to return, for any reason, keep this as a token to remind you that all of this has been real,”

Emma took the necklace and looked closely at the pendant. There, fashioned from onyx and silver, was a Swan, floating in the water.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,”

Nova smiled brightly. “I’m new to this position, to tell you the truth. I’m glad you like it. I’ve been worried that I’m still not quite as good as I should be,”

Emma placed a reassuring hand on the fairy’s milky shoulder.

“You’re doing amazing. I couldn’t ever be half as good a fairy as you,”

Nova let loose a tinkling laugh.

“You’re too kind, Emma Nolan. Now, perhaps we should return to the festivities. I’m sure there is to be a ball,”

And indeed there was much dancing and music in the throne room. Emma danced with her friends, gaily, with much laughter and joy and then, when the merriment was winding down, Prince Baelfire came before her and held out his hand.

The song they danced to was mysterious as the magic which had brought them together, as flightily as the fairies of the wood and as elegant as the swans on the lake. Emma twirled gracefully with her partner about the floor. Baelfire led her admirably, but his face was grave. Hers, she knew, was a match. Something about the tune was enigmatic, dark and unquestionably alluring. She felt like the ballerina on top of a jewelry chest, with her unknowable expression and graceful poise.

The song came to a close, and the dancers bowed deeply to one another. As they did so, there rose a gasp of alarm, and from the door came the Most King. Peter, it seemed was no quite vanquished. He rushed forth, bowling over all those who came to the aide.

“Say you’ll stay, Emma,” Baelfire begged, a striking fear in his gaze, his hand already resting on the sword. “Say you’ll stay and he can be driven back!”

“I-“ But Emma did not have an answer. And, as she faltered, and King Peter grew nearer, she saw his form begin to change, and solidify. Emma looked around and the others too were returning to their doll like state. With a clang, Baelfire’s sword felt to the ground, shortly followed by the Prince himself, who landed with a wooden thud, a Nutcracker once more.

Emma bent and grasped the sword firmly in her hand. The whole court now lay, a mixture of dolls and tin solders and statuettes and other figurines, but King Peter came still towards her. From the edges of her vision, a mist was coming up, surrounding them, closing in upon them.

The Mouse King lunged, and Emma raised the Prince’s sword, defending herself. The blades met with a clang and Emma whirled on instinct, parrying and blocking his advances.

“You won’t hurt anyone here!” She rallied, and pressed forward, driving him out onto the veranda. “I won’t let you. I am the Saviour of this realm, and no one else is going to die because of you!” With one more powerful swing of her sword, she backed King Peter up against the balustrade, and he tumbed over, taking the crumbling marble with him.

Emma heaved her breaths shakily, and the sword dropped from her grasp. The fog was denser now, all about her completely. There was no escape from it. Blindly, Emma ran back into the great hall, but she could not see any of her new friends, nor could she locate Nova, or Baelfire. The fog rushed in and the mist fell over her, and Emma knew no more.

When she came too, Emma was in her own bed, morning streaming in through the curtains, but the Swan Pendant remained about her neck, a heavy and telling weight.

Act IV

Seized by sudden concern, Emma rushed to check the cabinet, but he wasn’t there. The Nutcracker was indeed missing.  Graham swore that he hadn’t taken the figurine, and her mother hadn’t removed it to clean. It was simply gone, without adieu. Emma hid her unhappiness, her anger. She wasn’t content to simply behave as if nothing had ever happened.

Mr. Gold was around once more, and she had to make the decision. If anyone might believe her, it could only be the father of the Prince himself.

“Godfather Gold,” Emma chose to use the endearment, hoping in vain that it might emit the same reaction as when Graham used it. “Tell me, have you a son?”

Mr. Gold looked quite taken aback, and Emma began to worry that she had opened the conversation quite wrongly.

“A son…” His tone was clipped, tight as if speaking on a painful memory. “Isn’t that a rather impertinent question, dearie? To ask of your elder?” His tone was verging on dangerously cheery, and it startled Emma, but she refused to back down, and instead chose a different path of questioning.

“Did you take the Nutcracker? He’s missing,” Firmly, Emma stood her ground. “I would like him back, if you took him. I’ve grown fond of him,”

Gold, who had turned back to his engrossing work, focused all of his attention on her, razor sharp gaze penetrating Emma’s reserve.

“Have you,” The words came out more as a statement than a question.

“I have. He is my favourite thing which you have made. I loved him,” She stated simply, trying only to speak of a child’s toy. The emotion Emma felt for the Prince, however, remained, and she couldn’t purge it all from her words. “Mr. Gold,” she continued, “What of this crown? I found it recently,” She held out King Peter’s diadem, miniature in her palm. “Perhaps it belonged to a Mouse who was a King,” She felt on even ground with Mr. Gold for once in her life. Perhaps, she thought, it was because she knew him not as Rumpelstiltskin, the great sorcerer, and loving, if brisk, father.

“Tosh, Dearie, this is but the crown I had once upon my watch chain! I thought you to be smarter than that,” That Mr. Gold brushed her off so easily angered her. She was nearly fifteen. To be given to such flights of fancy was beyond her, but it had seemed _so real_. And her Prince, her Baelfire. He had been more real than anything else. She’d never felt for anyone in such a way before him. Frustrated, she turned heel and stalked away.

“I would have loved you,” She murmured gently, holding the swan pendant which Nova had given her. “I would have loved you when Abigail could not! I would have loved you no matter how you appeared. You were most gentle person I ever knew,”

Some weeks later, Emma learned that Mr. Gold was to return as one of the clocks was acting up again. She’d begun to wonder whether or not he was actually fixing the mechanisms, or if he only repaired them for a time so that he would be back again in as many days. But Emma was upset with him, with everyone in general, and so was determined to stay away when he arrived.  All the same, her mother’s face soon appeared around the corner of the door.

“Emma,” She called. “Mr. Gold will be here any moment! You must come down and greet him! You’re a young lady now, it’s only proper,” Mary Margret promptly ushered the blonde girl down the stair and into the foyer where they would receive their visitor.

Gold stepped into the hallway, and Emma promptly scowled at him. In return, much to her shock, he leveled her gaze, a challenge in his eyes. Only a month ago he had so evenly dismissed her! But when Mr. Gold stepped aside, and Emma’s gaze fell upon the person behind him, she was so stunned that her anger dispersed. Peering more closely at the visitor, Emma missed the twinkle in Gold’s eyes.

“Mayor Nolan, Mrs. Nolan, Miss Emma. May I present my son, Neal Gold, lately back from New York,” Mr. Gold swept his hand in an invitation. Neal removed his hat, bringing it around to his chest in rather gentlemanly fashion. He was wearing quite a fine black coat over the deepest burgundy vest, embellished with shined silver buttons. His boots were the same shined black as his top hat, and his trousers were a pale cream. His garb was too familiar.

“Mayor, Mrs. Nolan, Miss Emma,” Gold’s son nodded at each one in succession. “Thank you for welcoming me into your house,” Emma’s parents gave their proper replies, but Emma found herself sent utterly to distraction by the surprise guest.  His warm brown eyes smiled in juncture with his mouth, which seemed as kind on the whole as the rest of him. He was quite handsome and could only have been a year or two older than herself. His hair curled at his ears in a rather becoming manner that spoke of the vestiges of boyhood, but his posture and bearing were eminently regal, far beyond his true station. He stood, tall, but not proud. True he was younger than he had been in the realm where they had met, but then, she had been older there herself.

“What about me?” Graham came bumbling forward, still holding to his hobby horse. “Don’t I get announced?” He asked childishly.

“Of course! How could I forget?” Mr. Gold leant down before the little boy. “Son, this is Graham, the youngest Nolan in residence. Young Master Nolan, this is my son, Neal,”

“A pleasure, I’m sure, young Master!” The newcomer swept into a gallant bow, delighting the boy.

“Come in, please, do come in! Let me take your things,” Mary Margret fell graciously back into her role as hostess, taking the proffered hat and cloak from Neal Gold.

“So how was New York then? Did you find it exciting enough?” David asked, ushering the two gentlemen away and into the Men’s drawing room, perhaps for a smoke and some brandy. Though she had never been allowed in the room, Emma had snooped many a time. Her eyes trailed after Neal. She, her brother and her mother might have been dismissed, but Emma was certainly going to have her chance to speak with Mr. Gold’s son. He _had_ to be Prince Baelfire from her dream…if indeed it had been a dream at all. She threw on her rose cloak, and exited the house, content to sit in the gardens in thought.

The garden was covered in a fresh dusting of snow, and the cardinal sang gaily in the trees, their colourful feathers warming the scenery. Emma found herself wishing that Poinsettias could survive in the cool weather. Then, the garden would have been magical. There was no wind, so Emma didn’t feel the biting sting, her cheeks pinked with the cold.

“Ahem,” A throat cleared behind her and Emma jumped, startled. She turned on the bench and Neal Gold drew into her view. “Your mother sent me. We’re to dine soon,”

“I see,” Emma felt awkward speaking with him. She wondered if…but didn’t say anything.

“I haven’t been away in New York, you know,” He said, holding out his hand her as Emma stood. “I was far away, far away and not-“

“Yourself?” She answered, not daring to feel hopeful.

“No, indeed,” Neal answered, head hung, but there was a grin growing across his face.

“Is it you?” Emma’s voice didn’t waver, much to her credit. “It is really you, isn’t it? Prince Baelfire?” He looked up, sudden, as if startled, and his rich brown eye met her own green ones, sincerity belied there.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d recall…” Neal took her other hand. “I hoped that you might, and my father told me that perhaps it would be so, but he couldn’t be sure. Sure if you truly recalled,”

“I do recall! I have recalled!” She buried the urge to slug him once in the shoulder, her mother’s voice in her head telling her that such actions were unbecoming of a lady, even if they were meant in love, however strangely expressed. Instead, Emma stepped towards him. Neal stood only a few inches taller than herself. They were quite close; not even Graham could have slipped between the two without brushing their clothes. “Why did you not come sooner?”

“Emma, I’ve only just been able to arrive. My journey was long and arduous, but you broke my curse. You did that, Emma. Only you could have,” He said earnestly.

“So your father…”

“Is really a magical sorcerer called Rumpelstiltskin? Yes. He is,”

“What shall we do now?” Emma asked, trying to process all the information. She’d believed, but never had to accept the reality that her dream hadn’t really been a dream at all – that she’d saved the life of a Prince from another realm.

“I imagine we shall eat dinner,” His smirk relieved Emma of her restraint and she tapped him on the arm with mild force.

“You’re horrible,” She said, not quite joking

“Yes, but you love me,” He replied.

“I do,” Emma held tightly to his hands. “Yes. Yes I do. I love you,” Her eyes glittered mischievously. “My Nutcracker,”

He let loose a laugh, smiling widely. “Let’s keep that to ourselves, shall we? I’m not keen to remember that time,”

“But you’re still a Prince from another realm,”

“The son of a Sorcerer now, nothing more or less. You saw to that, My Swan Princess, and I’m eminently grateful to you for it. I always will be,”

“Mother will be incorrigible,” Emma sighed, thinking on her reaction to the two of them grown so obviously close. Neal only smiled.

“I think you can handle her, if what I’ve seen is anything to go by,”

She did knock him once in the shoulder then, but it was amiably meant, and they shared a chuckle, thinking fondly on all they’d been through. Contentedly, they walked through the garden, arms looped together, back to the house for dinner in the warm glow of candles in the window, the future very, very bright.

The End.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

 


End file.
